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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29482833">In the Shadows</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeonNoir/pseuds/NeonNoir'>NeonNoir</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/F, Female Reader, first ever attempt at x reader fic, no beta we die like men, vampire milf doesn't know what youtube is, you're an urbex YouTuber</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 23:02:40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,543</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29482833</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeonNoir/pseuds/NeonNoir</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>You’re an urban explorer on a month-long trip throughout eastern Europe, visiting the best locations the area has to offer. However, when you’re tipped off about an abandoned castle, it turns out it might be less abandoned than you thought.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Alcina Dimitrescu &amp; Reader, Alcina Dimitrescu/Reader, Lady Dimitrescu (Resident Evil) &amp; Reader, Lady Dimitrescu (Resident Evil)/Original Female Character(s), Lady Dimitrescu (Resident Evil)/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>306</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I want to preface this with I have no knowledge of Resident Evil lore. I discovered big tiddy vampire milf and ran to this fandom as soon as I could. I haven’t touched a video game console in years (yes, I’m lame.) let alone a Resident Evil game. I apologize in advance for any inconsistencies with canon: I’m here for the gays and that’s about it. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯</p><p>(sorry for any spelling/grammar issues, especially towards the end. it's almost 1 in the morning here and I get up at 6, so I kinda skimped on the proofread and decided to instead post and head to bed. ^^;)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>If you had told yourself a few years ago that you would be taking a giant multi-country trip for your job, you would have never believed it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You had always loved watching the exploration of abandoned places, no matter if they were seemingly frozen in time or decrepit and reclaimed by nature. Your YouTube history consisted of The Proper People, Urbex &amp; Chill, Dan Bell, and many more famous names in the urbex genre, but you had never contemplated entering such a career for yourself at the time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It all began when a friend of yours invited you to go exploring in high school. You were a senior and wanted to finally do something cool and ‘live on the edge’ for once, since you always played it safe and never did anything that could get you in trouble out of the sheer fear of punishment. Your friend was way more adventurous than you, and so were her other friends who came along. You weren’t close with them, but good enough acquaintances to trust being on a sort of team with them within an abandoned, possibly-dangerous building. The location had been about a mile or so away from the nearby dirt road, the whole gang in long jeans and tall socks, knowing what was once a manicured lawn was tall grass that was surely infested with ticks. There was no one around for miles, so you all walked out in the open under the late afternoon sun.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eventually, you spotted a house behind a plethora of wild plants having overgrown their previously well-manicured state, as the house had gone unattended to year after year. It was a one-story home, seemingly frozen in time. The exterior may have been colored at one time, but the sun had bleached out any discernment of a hue years ago, leaving the paint bright white and peeling off in strips. The floors creaked as one of your companions opened the door after a short battle with it being semi-rusted shut by the lock, the inner air pressure not used to the external late-summer heat and causing a gust of cool air to hit you as you entered.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The living room was right off from the entrance, the furniture covered in a thick layer of dust, the floral pattern still able to be discerned on the couch, as well as the faded minty green hue of the pleather armchairs beside it. An old tv sat in a wooden tv cabinet, and a case of VHS tapes sat underneath the tv compartment space. You took a look, spotting </span>
  <em>
    <span>Chinatown, Saturday Night Fever, Starcrash, Rocky, Enter the Dragon,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and </span>
  <em>
    <span>Caddyshack</span>
  </em>
  <span> in their individual plastic cases with their shiny laminate-protected covers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The bed in the bedroom was made, with a crocheted circular blanket made to resemble a lace doily donning the top of the covers. The bed frame itself was metal, curved into an ornate flourish design on the fronts of the footboard and headboard. The carpet was old, and more flat fabric nowadays than the plush flooring it must have once been, being a beige with specks of brown and black being intertwined into the fibers. It must’ve been a trendy style at the time, you supposed. The closet had a pull-away door made of warm brown wood with a brass handle, and opening it revealed a full closet, the pieces to the front consisting of hand-knitted numbers in those stereotypical ‘vintage colors’ of that warm and woody raw sierra, that green shade that looked like a cross between army green and bright lime, goldenrod yellow, and that yellow-tinted retro orange.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You examined a bookshelf that was also located in the bedroom, finding a trove of literature: <em>Farmer’s Almanac 1970, Pride and Prejudice, The New Illustrated Guide to Gardening, The Shining, The Complete Tales and Poems of Edgar Allen Poe, Betty Crocker’s Ways to Hamburger, Murder on the Orient Express, Carrie, The Good Housekeeping Cookbook, The Phantom of the Opera</em>, and many more. Whoever lived here must have been quite the bookworm, as well as an amateur cook, apparently. But who? <em>Who</em> lived there? What was their name? How old were they? What happened to them? Did they have a family? Why did no one come to clean up their things after their sudden vacating of the home? Did they enjoy reading? Did they learn to cook from those books? Did they start the garden that they were once reading up on how to prepare? What was their occupation? Their life story? All of the answers to these questions had disappeared, along with the occupant of the home. An entire life story snuffed from existence, sans the few clues to what might have been. You found it absolutely fascinating.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As your posse left the home in the golden light of the summer sunset, you chatted excitedly with your friend about how amazing your little adventure had been. That there were places like this just...lost in time, completely forgotten, and left to sit for the indefinite future. That was your first ever urbex adventure, but it <em>definitely</em> wasn’t your last.</span>
</p><hr/>
<p>
  <span>You began to branch out after that, with you and your friend exploring local abandoned houses and old factories where the old industrial park once was in town, taking photos, and even shooting some footage of the locations as well. You had started to expand on your hobby of photography, investing in a good DSLR and taking photos and sharing them online. Eventually, you started teaching yourself how to get better at filming and editing videos of your adventures and made a YouTube account to show the world your explorations. You chose the username Exploring With A Sapphic, and got to work. A secondary reason why you chose the name was to maybe magically find a girl who shared your interests. You were too awkward around attractive women to talk to them in real life, let alone confident enough to actually get a date, so this was an attempt to circumvent that entirely. It was unlikely, but it was worth a shot.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At first, no one watched your videos. But that was okay. You were doing this as a hobby so you could share your adventures with the world. Eventually, you got a handful of subscribers, nearing 150 on the 1-year anniversary of your channel, 600 by the second, and over 1,000 even before the third. Although a large fraction of them were inactive, it brought you pride that a thousand people liked your videos so much that they chose to subscribe. Then, one random day, YouTube’s algorithm decided to start recommending your videos to people. At first it was a shock to get a couple thousand views per video, but it soon evolved into tens and hundreds of thousands. Soon, your account was gaining more traction. Companies started approaching you with brand deals. It started with simple things like Audible or EBates, but it soon evolved into famous sponsors like HelloFresh (who enjoyed your example of their easy scheduling feature as you canceled for the days or weeks you were away from home on trips to the next location for a new adventure and a new video— use code XPLORESAPPHIC for 20% off your first order!), Hunt-A-Killer (‘this body was found in an abandoned warehouse, like the one in this video! Spooky, right?!? Wanna solve the mystery?— link is in the description!), and many more. Within a few months, you’re able to quit your 9-to-5 as a barista at the local coffee shop chain and do YouTube full time. <b><em>Holy shit.</em></b> You had <em>never </em>thought it would have gotten this far. You were a <em>professional YouTuber</em> who made <em>money</em> by <em>exploring abandoned locations</em>. </span>
</p><hr/>
<p>
  <span>At the moment, you were on a tour of Europe, leaning mostly to the eastern chunk of the continent, all to capture footage for an international series for your channel that you had already decided to title </span>
  <em>
    <span>WLW Wastelands </span>
  </em>
  <span>(the whole “you like women'' thing had become a bit of an inside joke with your subscribers by this point, and you came up with related titles for videos and upped the ante every time you could). So far you had explored the inner workings of the brutalist-style Buzludzha Monument in Belgium; the All Saints Church, the Pip Ivan Observatory, and the Trade Unions Building in; the Cable Cars of Chiatura, the Abandoned Council of Ministries Building, and the Soviet Sanatoriums of Tskaltubo in Georgia; The tunnels of Fort Hermann in Slovenia; the Chisinau State Circus in Moldova; Linnahall in Estonia, and even the residence of the infamous ‘Blood Countess’ Elizabeth Bathory at Cachtice Castle in Slovakia. You had been hopping from hostel to hotel, plane to train, bus to cab, country to country for over a month now, and you were ecstatic over all the new things you were seeing and the new places you were visiting every single day.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Your next stop: Dimitescu Castle, an old relic of an established family lineage. Built in the 15th century, this was going to be an amazing adventure into the far-off past. The surrounding town was seemingly frozen in time, looking like an all-peasant renaissance fair or some village straight out of <em>Game of Thrones</em>. Shops were open and homes were lived in, so there was still a thriving community...maybe they were like the Amish and shunned modern technology?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There were a few cars in the town, but they were all old and decrepit, but apparently still functioned fine despite the age and rust. You had taken a bus from the train station to a nearby (and thankfully modern) town, and gotten a cab from there to the village. The cab driver was extremely reluctant to take you at first, only agreeing to when you offered to pay a bit extra for the cab fare. During your research, you had come across so many stories of the castle belonging to a cult of virgin-sacrificing succubi or a coven of misandrist vampires who actively sought out male victims. Obviously, those tales were very much alive in the form of the superstitions of the local population, given the cab driver’s reluctance to drive you anywhere near the castle.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You pulled your scarf up over your mouth and nose, finding it colder in this area than back in town. The village was multiple miles away and in a more mountainous area, so you assume it was some sort of elevation thing. You </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> drive up some very steep cliffsides on the way there, after all. A small wooded area of dormant trees covered in snow and thorny bramble separated the commoners from the once-residence of the Dimitrescu family, with a single dirt trail leading into the village from the direction of the castle. You followed along the trail from the side, hiding behind the cover of thick trees and dead shrubbery. There was a layer of snow on the grass that crunched underneath your feet, making the only sound you could hear besides that of the wind in the silent soundscape.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Castle Dimitrescu was...<em>ginormous</em>, to say the least. It towered over the village, and you assumed on a sunny day it could even drown the little community in its shadow. Towers of varying sizes adorned the walls at random locations, leading to pointed gothic spires at the very top of each one. For how sharp they looked, you assumed if a bird somehow fell near the castle and landed on one, it would instantly become a shishkabob. It was all dark and imposing without a single sign of life to be found. <em>Perfect.</em></span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You made your way around the side, finding a servant’s entrance near the end that opened pretty easily. You turned on the GoPro that was attached to your chest and began filming, turning on your DSLR to be ready to snap a photo when the time was right. You used your flashlight to illuminate the cobblestone of the servant’s quarters, eventually finding a secondary staircase, obviously also exclusively for servants. The stairs were also stone, thank god— wooden ones would likely break under your weight if they had somehow managed to even stay intact that long. So far, the place was...oddly preserved? It must have been the cold and the lack of curious souls coming to wander due to local myths. In addition, stone definitely takes a lot longer to erode, so this place had a good foundation, too. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You soon came across the first door of the staircase, slowly opening it to reveal a grand staircase to the left, hand-carved out of dark wood with candelabras fixed into them at certain points. To the right was a small-yet-elegant sitting era that sat before a grand fireplace, flanked by two sets of armor. The railing of the balcony on the second floor had even more ornate carvings in the wood, which you noticed thanks to your flashlight. You had also caught the glint of the giant chandelier still hanging from the vaulted ceilings between the small interior flying buttresses. You snapped photos like crazy, taking out another light to help get a better look at the environment in your videos and photos. You then moved on, slowly treading each step to make sure it was stable before putting all of your weight onto it. Holy hell, this place was beautiful. Shit, it might even give such a place like Notre Dame a run for its money. You couldn’t even find a correct way to describe the interior: Dark Baroque? Gothic Victorian? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Urbex Jackpot?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You walked down the hall of the second floor (or the third, if you counted the partially-subterranean floor that contained the servants’ quarters and the kitchens), examining wood carvings, suits of armor, and more details of the space along the way. However, you froze at the sound of— tiny wings? Like a flock of hummingbirds or some other small, buzzing creature.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then, out of the corner of your eye,<em> you saw it.</em></span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Down the hall stood a figure in a black cloak. Yeah, a </span>
  <em>
    <span>cloak</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Like this place was Hogwarts or something (well, it </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> kinda look like Hogwarts. So...fair enough.). Maybe it was a mannequin? It wouldn’t have been the first time someone left a little prank in an abandoned place for the next visitor (you </span>
  <em>
    <span>still </span>
  </em>
  <span>had nightmares of that rotting Rock-afire Explosion animatronic at that abandoned theme park in Virginia). You walked a few yards forward, now clearly seeing a blonde woman underneath the slight shadow of the hood. She stood, staring directly at you without any movement or noise. She seemed to rarely blink, staring you down as if she had psychic powers that could make you turn around and forget you were ever there.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> You decided to break the silence.“Uhh...</span>
  <em>
    <span>hi there?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” you said, giving a tiny wave as a universal sign of </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘I’m harmless, please don’t mug me’</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Wait. This wasn’t the United States. What if they didn’t even speak English?!? What if they attacked because you were unable to communicate that you were harmless??? Thankfully, you had taught yourself some basic Russian phrases for the trip, knowing it was the most popular language in that area of the continent. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Здравствуйте?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” you asked shyly, once again giving a wave. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She didn’t respond.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Okay, maybe she’s just as spooked from the encounter as you are? Maybe some light conversation might help convey that you come in peace. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m just taking a look around, so if you’re staying here, don’t mind me.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A lot of times the homeless tended to live in abandoned spaces. You had only encountered a handful, and you usually kept cash on you to offer them enough for a meal out of pure compassion. However, you weren’t entirely sure this woman was homeless, let alone did you know the currency for whatever country you were in now (honestly, the countries had all started to blend together for you in your memory) if you were to offer money. Most countries used the euro, but you also had to convert your money into kuna, złoty, forint, lek, and dram, just to make a few. You also knew that some vagrants weren’t exactly just down on their luck, and would harm you if given the chance, so you kept a few precautionary measures on your person: a hunting knife, a small bottle of pepper spray, and a resin keychain which acted as a knuckle duster-like weapon that was in the shape of a cat (having been coined on the Etsy shop you had bought it from as the ‘Stabby Tabby’).</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This place is in pristine condition for being abandoned, y’know? I’ve </span>
  <em>
    <span>never</span>
  </em>
  <span> seen an urbex location so...</span>
  <em>
    <span>clean.</span>
  </em>
  <span> No decay, no destruction, no vandalism, </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” you added with a nervous chuckle. “It’s almost like there’s a ghost cleaning crew in here or something.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>“</b>
  <b>
    <em>It’s not abandoned.</em>
  </b>
  <b>”</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You blinked in confusion, your head turning to the woman in the hall. Okay, so she understood English and spoke it, that was good for their communication. Duly noted. “Sorry, come again?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>This castle. It’s not abandoned.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” She moved slightly for the first time, head cocked to the side in curiosity as she moved towards you, like a cat stalking a mouse. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I...don’t think so,” you replied, immediately noting the location of your weapons in response to her threatening gaze. Your tone became more nervous and frantic as you realized what this meant if she was telling the truth. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Did you just accidentally commit breaking-and-entering in a foreign country?!?</span>
  </em>
  <span> “I-I literally researched it before I even came here: This is the old house seat of the Dimitrescu family. The family line still exists, but this place was last lived in, like, two </span>
  <em>
    <span>centuries</span>
  </em>
  <span> ago!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, I’m Daniela <em>Dimitrescu</em>, and I certainly <b><em>live</em></b><em> here,</em>” she responds, obviously angered by your gall to dare enter her domain. You begin to back away slowly, gesturing with your hands in front of you defensively. “Look, I had <b><em>no</em></b><em> idea</em> this place was lived in. I had absolutely <b><em>no intention</em></b> to break into a place that was actively lived-in. I’ll leave right now if that helps. I came here under the impression this would be a cool abandoned place to explore. Emphasis on <b><em>abandoned.</em></b>”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daniela didn’t respond but began to walk towards you in quick, confident strides that made you even more fearful for your safety.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I-I don’t have a lot of the local currency, but I can offer you some others to exchange! I have American money, too! A-a little apology gift before I get the hell out of here and <em>never</em> bother you again!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her pace quickened. And your hand immediately went for the lanyard in your pocket, fingers slipping into the stabby tabby as you began to walk away faster, nearly running backward at this point. Suddenly, you hit a wall. A wall that wasn’t there before. A soft wall that felt like fabric, from what your back could determine of the physical quality of it. Maybe some sort of trap door made of pillows? Hell, anything was possible in this place at this rate. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Little did you know, that sentiment was going to become even more relevant as time went on.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <b>
    <em>“Daniela, who’s this?”</em>
  </b>
  <b></b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh god.</span>
  </em>
  <b></b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“She broke in, Mother! She said she </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘thought’</span>
  </em>
  <span> the castle was </span>
  <em>
    <span>abandoned!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Daniela snarled, stopping a few feet away from you.</span>
  <b></b>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, good god. A higher-up of the house. You were either going to be stabbed by a 15th-century sword and put out of your misery, or arrested in a foreign country for a fucking </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>felony.</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <b></b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Well, you might as well meet your fate. You turned around, seeing a silk curtain where your back had been, and looked around it for a figure to your side, finding no one. Wait. A </span>
  <em>
    <span>silk curtain?</span>
  </em>
  <span> That couldn’t be right...</span>
  <b></b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then, you looked </span>
  <strong>
    <em>up.</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Nothing could have prepared you for what you saw. That wasn’t a curtain— that was a </span>
  <em>
    <span>dress</span>
  </em>
  <span>. The </span>
  <em>
    <span>bottom</span>
  </em>
  <span> of a dress, to be precise. The owner of the voice towered over you —and you weren’t even that short! 5’10, give or take— by </span>
  <em>
    <span>multiple feet</span>
  </em>
  <span>. In fact, you barely came up to her </span>
  <em>
    <span>hip</span>
  </em>
  <span>. From the position you were in, you accidentally got… quite a nice view of her chest, to say the least. She was definitely well-endowed, but you quickly moved on from that in hopes of not coming off as an accidental-burglar ogling a giant woman’s tits. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her dark hair was styled into immaculate pin curls, looking more like a professionally styled cosplay wig you would find on Pinterest or something rather than actual hair. Her lips were coated in a perfectly-applied coat of red lipstick, framing a devious smile. Her skin was porcelain white, making the contrasting black eyeshadow she had on very flattering. Her lashes were unnaturally long but seemed as soft and dainty as a feather. However, the facial feature that was by far the most prominent was her eyes. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh god, her eyes.</span>
  </em>
  <span> They were...</span>
  <em>
    <span>golden</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Flecks of a light white-gold color on a warm honey-colored background. They were otherworldly. Breathtaking. Stunning. Any other word synonymous with</span>
  <em>
    <span> ‘holy shit so fucking beautiful</span>
  </em>
  <span>’, really. She wore a white silk dress, a giant wide-brimmed hat, both earrings and a necklace of pearls, and black leather gloves. All she needed was the fluffy robe and she could have been a rich housewife whose husband had just ‘mysteriously’ disappeared.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If you hadn’t been in a possibly life-threatening situation, you would’ve gathered all your courage to humorously ask the woman to marry you on the spot. Holy </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>, was she your type. Bigger than you, elegant, poised… not to mention the ginormous rack and the curved thighs that you imagine could easily crush a skull— but, like...in the sexist way possible. Your brain was practically a slideshow of all those wholesome memes of Kermit the Frog and Spongebob surrounded by heart emojis and absolutely no other thoughts. This woman could punch you in the face right then and there and you would probably </span>
  <em>
    <span>thank her</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That entire internal train of thought only lasted a second in actual time, your external reaction only being a look of awe and a slight blush growing on your cheeks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uhmm…</span>
  <em>
    <span>hi?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” You squeaked, absolutely entranced by the woman while a part of your brain reminded you that this was practically a giant who was either going to kill you or have you thrown in jail.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I assume you’re the, uh</span>
  <em>
    <span>...owner?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Indeed, I am.” Her voice was as smooth as silk, making you feel warmth in the pit of your stomach, somewhere between giddiness and fear: like a femme fatle who hadn’t decided if she was going to kiss you or kill you yet. it had an air of elegance and authority. American, too. Not a hint of an accent from anywhere else, oddly enough.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You back up about two yards so you can make eye contact easier with the woman. “First off, I am </span>
  <b>
    <em>so sorry.</em>
  </b>
  <span> I-I researched this place, and all the sources said it wasn’t lived in, or it was but it all had to do with some </span>
  <em>
    <span>hokey superstitious shit</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I-I would’ve never come here if I had known it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>occupied—</span>
  </em>
  <span>“</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You suddenly feel a weight on your shoulder. A large gloved hand. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>It’s quite alright, pet.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” She soothes you, rubbing your shoulder softly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“However, may I inquire why you were coming to an…</span>
  <em>
    <span> ‘abandoned’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>castle?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I… I wanted to explore. I was in the area, and I’ve always found abandoned places fascinating…” you explain, gesturing to the camera hanging around your neck by the strap. “Good explorers live by the whole </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘take nothing but pictures, leave nothing but footprints' </span>
  </em>
  <span>code, the only exception being logbooks. No vandalism, no theft. Respect the building and what’s left inside, so I never came here to cause damage or harm, if that’s what you're wondering.” you replied, the pride in your profession’s unspoken code slowly fading as you went along. The woman only replied with a nod, silently taking in your reasoning for being there.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If we’re all good here, then I’ll see myself out…” you added, shifting your weight nervously between your two feet. The awkwardness of being in the same space as such a </span>
  <em>
    <span>goddess</span>
  </em>
  <span> of a woman and the embarrassment of you having accidentally broken into their home complied on top of one another already made you want the earth to swallow you whole, so the farther away you could get, the better.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lady Dimitrescu shook her head disapprovingly. “Oh, no. Please stay for dinner. It’s absolutely </span>
  <em>
    <span>freezing</span>
  </em>
  <span> out there. You could use a warm meal.” She replied, suddenly very content on having you stick around, turning to escort you to the dining room, presumably.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You scratched the back of your neck awkwardly. “Oh, I simply couldn’t. I… kinda broke into your home. Frankly, the fact that you didn’t call the cops is more than enough of a kind gesture.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Lady of the house insisted. “Nonsense. You’re a guest now. Just...the way you got here was a bit...</span>
  <em>
    <span>unorthodox.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” She looked over her shoulder, giving you a playful smirk. Somehow it made her less threatening for a moment, rather than her smirking for a demise she already had planned out for you or something of the sort.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Okay, she was insisting. You were in no position to argue with a woman who could crush you under a single heeled foot. “A-alright then” you looked up from the ground at Lady Dimitrescu once more. “Thank you, ma’am.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My pleasure, pet. Now... what could I interest you in for dinner?”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Stacy's Mom Has Got It Goin' On (Oh, and She's Also a Vampire)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>You meet the rest of the Dimitrescu family, and dinner doesn't go quite as planned...</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Holy shit. THANK YOU ALL SOOOO MUCH FOR ALL THE COMMENTS!!! It seriously means the world to me. I have really bad self-esteem issues related to trauma, so my imposter syndrome is always right behind me when I do stuff like this. I have NEVER gotten this much feedback (let alone /positive/ feedback) on ANYTHING I've ever made. I seriously cannot thank you all enough.</p><p>(Oh! and please know that my lack of replies to comments is simply because my executive dysfunction goes “no. :)” every damn time I try to respond. I read and appreciate every single one, regardless!)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>“Now, what could I interest you in for dinner?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, thank you. But I’m fine.” you smiled nervously, her unimpressed glance in response guilting you within moments. You could practically hear the clip of Dr. Doofenshmirtz saying </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘You're trapped, by societal convention!’</span>
  </em>
  <span> as you succumbed to her desire to feed you. Being from the midwest, food was instinctively an act of care to you and those around you, so you would’ve been guilted by just about anyone. “Whatever you have, ma’am.” You bowed your head in gratitude, “even just some broth would be great”.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Alexandru,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” she announced, a figure popping out of seemingly nowhere in the shadows of the castle– a younger man, dressed in a neat vest and button-down shirt, looking like a waiter for some fantasy restaurant that was so immaculate that it would have been rated seven out of five stars. He bowed his head slightly in acknowledgement before looking up as she spoke her request. “Please tell the kitchens to prepare some </span>
  <em>
    <span>Avgolemono</span>
  </em>
  <span>, please. In fact, make enough for the entire family.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Whatever </span>
  <em>
    <span>Avgolemono </span>
  </em>
  <span>was, it sure as hell sounded expensive. “In all honesty, I planned on my dinner being some Chewy bars I have packed with me, so no need to go all out.” You replied, not wanting to make yourself even more of an unwanted burden on the household. You felt bad enough </span>
  <em>
    <span>already</span>
  </em>
  <span> about accidentally breaking into their home....</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Avgolemono is quite a simple dish, really. It’s a soup made with egg, lemon, and chicken. My family lineage traces back to Greece, so we have a few family recipes that reflect our heritage.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Greek? Cool.” you nodded in interest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dimitrescu has roots in the word </span>
  <em>
    <span>Demetrios</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Which translates to </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘a follower of Demeter’</span>
  </em>
  <span> in ancient Greek.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Demeter,” you nodded again, this time with a bit of pride as you knew a bit on this subject.“goddess of agriculture, fertility, harvest, and sacred law.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her half-lidded eyes and lifted right brow assessed your knowledge on the subject. “You’re quite knowledgeable on this subject, I see.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You smile slightly, trying not to beam with pride that the big tall lady who had graciously taken mercy on you was impressed with your knowledge. “I read enough Percy Jackson as a kid to keep some of the information deep within my brain” You may have noticed her previous expression, but you completely missed the next one of sheer confusion on her face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The matriarch led you into a luxurious dining room, with baroque wall panels with gold leaf on the beveled accents. The dining table was mahogany with a dark jacobean stain, and filled the entire length of the room, seating fifteen people— and that was a </span>
  <em>
    <span>lowball</span>
  </em>
  <span> estimate. A white satin table runner ran across its length, and a crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling as it illuminated the room with both regular and refracted light from the individual crystals.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lady Dimitrescu offered you a seat, seating you to the left of her seat at the head of the table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Obviously, you’ve already met Daniela, my oldest.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You nodded, glancing at the blonde sitting to the right of her mother. Daniela was...</span>
  <em>
    <span>weird</span>
  </em>
  <span>. She seemed like a blend of the old high school stereotypes of the popular prom queen, the goth, and the girl who hissed at people and was obsessed with Warrior Cats to an unhealthy extent. On top of it, she looked like a poster child for the 80s ‘satanic panic’ while her entire wardrobe seemed to be from Hot Topic circa 2000. She wore a black cloak, black lipstick, black eye makeup that you couldn’t tell if it had been put on to make it look like it had been cried off, or had actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> been cried off; along with some intricate temporary tattoo of some sort in the dead center of her forehead. You didn’t question it much— alt culture was pretty cool, and if she wanted to look like an early-aughts goth, then good for her (the accompanying reaction image of Lucille Bluth eating a cupcake automatically popped into your head, seemingly on cue).</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The other two should be here in a moment.” The woman added knowingly, as if this was a house with some sort of Von Trapp-style familial schedule.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You weren’t, however, expecting a</span>
  <em>
    <span> mini locust plague to randomly appear in the room.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Especially not one that </span>
  <em>
    <span>materialized into two women</span>
  </em>
  <span>. You didn’t have time to notice Lady Dimitrescu’s scowl, for she knew her two children had just blown their kind, </span>
  <em>
    <span>definitely-just-odd-humans-and-nothing-more</span>
  </em>
  <span> facade.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <b>
    <em>HOLY FUCK!</em>
  </b>
  <span>” you scream, nearly flipping your chair over with you inside it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is my second, Isobel; and my youngest, Arabella.” The Lady of the house added with a clenched jaw, pinching the bridge of her nose. She had already hatched an</span>
  <em>
    <span> immaculate</span>
  </em>
  <span> plan for this snack of a human, and now her daughters had ruined it. Ideally, she would have gained their trust, luring you in with a false sense of security with a meal and warm conversation before slitting your throat with her claws. But </span>
  <em>
    <span>no</span>
  </em>
  <span>, now she had a </span>
  <em>
    <span>real</span>
  </em>
  <span> dinner guest who was going to make them work for their meal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before you could get another word in, the two newcomers immediately took over the conversation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, mother! </span>
  <em>
    <span>You shouldn’t have!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” The one girl identified as Isobel cooed with delight, staring at you like she was a child eyeing the best toy in the toy store. Isobel wore a cloak like Daniela’s and had wavy dark hair that was either black or a very dark brown, a slender nose that came to a point, with half-lidded eyes covered in dark eyeshadow and lips covered in maroon lipstick that was so dark that it seemed more like a shade of black with a red tint instead of vice versa. Her overall look made her come across as either some sort of young, modern Morticia Adams.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alcina had obviously had enough. They had practically enacted the worst-case-scenario for welcoming you, with it only being worse if they had practically ripped your head off and had started to feast already. “</span>
  <b>
    <em>Girls!</em>
  </b>
  <span>” barked the matriarch, “she is a </span>
  <em>
    <span>guest!</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>...oh.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” they said, almost in unison with equal disappointment. Daniela crossed her arms, turning her head to her siblings. “I know, </span>
  <em>
    <span>right?!?</span>
  </em>
  <span> I thought we were having something </span>
  <em>
    <span>fresh!</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Wait. </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>You?</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span> Something </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>fresh?</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh fuck.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>fuck.</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <span>Somehow, your adrenaline took over your brain and you suddenly revert to being...oddly calm? It felt like when adrenaline makes a single person able to lift a car to save somebody— it was the immediate response in your brain and you didn’t bother questioning it. You turn to Lady Dimitrescu, expression blank. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>So…</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She massaged her temples, not even looking up. “Miniature clan of vampires.” she muttered in defeat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You nod, realizing what that meant for you. You imagined this was what the phrase </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘I will face god and walk backwards into hell’</span>
  </em>
  <span> felt like if it was a tangible experience. “Ah. So I assume I’m dessert, then?” you quipped “I will say, before you all feast: </span>
  <em>
    <span>A+ hospitality.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Anywho, I hope I taste goo—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, </span>
  <b>
    <em>no.</em>
  </b>
  <span> You’re a </span>
  <em>
    <span>guest.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” The Lady of the house interrupted you, her tone matter-of-fact. Hell, possibly even a tad bit offended that you automatically assumed this had all been a faux olive branch. Well… it </span>
  <em>
    <span>originally</span>
  </em>
  <span> was, but now she was improvising a plan as events occurred. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you were a meal, Daniela would have </span>
  <em>
    <span>eaten you by now.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Snickered Isobel, nudging Arabella playfully. Daneila licked her lips at the comment before adding “Besides, men are tastier. They taste even better when </span>
  <b>
    <em>scared out of their wits right before you—</em>
  </b>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>enough</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Daniela.” Lady Dimitrescu drawled before taking a noticeably large swig from her glass of wine— a servant must have brought that in while your attention was on her alleged children. You then put two and two together. The Dimitrescus were winemakers— had been for centuries, according to your research on the castle. With a peculiar interest in red wines. So, if they were vampires...vampires...red wine...</span>
  <em>
    <span>red—</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, </span>
  <em>
    <span>is that–?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” you managed to squeak, pointing to the glass in her hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. ...Well, not </span>
  <em>
    <span>technically</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” She set her glass back down on the table. “It’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>enhanced</span>
  </em>
  <span>. But it’s no different than a mortal human like yourself spiking your drink. Our equivalent of your vodka just happens to be blood. Wine is still the main ingredient by far.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You let out a sigh of relief. However, it was a moment too soon.</span>
</p><p><span>“—However, our wines </span><em><span>do</span></em><span> tend to contain a small amount of it. But it’s pure, of course. Even </span><em><span>we</span></em><span> have standards when it comes to what we consume. Our personal, </span><em><span>erm,</span></em> <b><em>‘house blend’</em></b><span> is pure blood. I was simply craving an </span><em><span>actual</span></em><span> wine pairing tonight.”</span></p><p>
  <span>You shivered slightly at the mention of them essentially having human blood on tap, but you were also a bit intrigued.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What tastes the best? I mean, obviously, bloodborne diseases and pathogens are surely a no-go, but is there a difference? Men vs women? Blood types?” You asked curiously, eyeing the glass.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That, my dear, is more or less a personal taste. As you already know, Daniella enjoys men the most, especially when they’re fearful before she attacks. I, for one, will partake in the blood of men, but it’s</span>
  <em>
    <span> definitely</span>
  </em>
  <span> not my favorite.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you like the best?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Women. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Virgins,</span>
  </em>
  <span> particularly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <em><span>Okay, so she might have just</span> <b>inadvertently</b> <span>said she wanted to drink</span> <b>your</b> <span>blood…</span></em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Before you could formulate a response, the main doors opened, with Alexandru, the man from before, leading in a meal cart pushed by two servant girls. Well, if by girls you meant seeing them in subservient positions wasn’t as awful because minors their age would’ve likely had a job at McDonald’s after school back home in the States. They carried plates of food, presenting each of them to the plate respective recipient at the table with a polite bow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Avgolemono, with orzo, Malaysian black pepper, and fresh dill; with a side of vegetables roasted with peach white balsamic vinegar, and a touch of rosemary; and brioche rolls with sesame seeds.” Alexandru announced, as you were all served. “We have two wine pairing options for this evening: the red being an Argentinian Malbec, and the white a Pinot Gris.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two girls went from seat to seat, pouring whichever chosen wine into a glass for them. Once they approached you, you realized you had no idea how to pair wines.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...any recommendations for the wine?” you asked sheepishly to the rest of the table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pinot Gris.” replied Lady Dimitrescu matter-of-factly. “–There’s blood already added to the Argentinian Malbec.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After your glass was poured, the Lady thanked the staff and dismissed them, turning back to you as soon as the doors shut, eyes sparkling with seemingly-newfound curiosity. “Do you not drink where you come from?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, not wine. If I want some, I usually grab a pack of watermelon White Claws or a few of those single, bagged frozen cocktails that you just pop in the freezer. With a preference to Piña Colada.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The girls gave a mix of a noise of confusion and a snicker that clearly was meant to insult your less-than-luxurious taste in alcohol, further signifying you as the odd one out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alcina raised her brow once more, seeming to do so when she learned something new about the outside world (or just your life back home in the States, at least) from you. “What kind of drink would ever be called… </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘White-Claw’?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a hard seltzer. It’s just a spiked can of La Croix, really. Really popular among stereotypical white people– especially upper-middle-class. As the saying goes: <em>Ain't No Laws When You're Drinkin’ Claws</em>, baby!” you explained, adding a quick shake of a shaka hand sign for effect. Daniela apparently liked this image of a ‘rad’, cool beverage, replacing her snickering with a nod of interest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> A somewhat-comfortable silence fell upon the room as all you began to eat. To say the food was delightful would be an </span>
  <em>
    <span>understatement</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Had you not been in the home of some stereotypical, literally-living-in-Transylvania vampires, you would have questioned if you were in the clutches of the Lotus Eaters of Greek mythology, eating the delicious lotus that clouded your mind in euphoria to stay on their island with them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wanted to ask earlier…” you broke the silence after a few minutes, turning to the matriarch.”What does blood taste like? I assume it doesn’t taste like how a human would taste it, with how it’s all metallic-tasting and smells like death if there’s a large enough amount of it outside of the body. I wouldn’t want to live my life feeding off of something that tasted like a pile of old coins in liquid form.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shook her head in confirmation. “Not at all. It’s… hard to describe to someone unable to experience it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“—and, judging by what I’ve experienced, you prey on poor souls in the nearby villages, and young women who wander into your clutches?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.” she replied, refusing to elaborate further. You didn’t blame her— her family was known as vampiric, so defending her name was out of the question anymore– she would simply allow others to judge them and be on her way to bigger and better things.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean no offense when I ask this, but: I know there’s not exactly a metropolitan hospital anywhere nearby, but...couldn’t you just steal from blood banks or something instead of killing people for </span>
  <em>
    <span>all</span>
  </em>
  <span> your meals? Presuming you wanted to seen in a better light by the villagers.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The matriarch raised a brow in curiosity. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>‘blood banks’?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Blood banks. Where they store blood, like, from blood donations and blood drives? Shit, some colleges promote blood and plasma donation to help get some extra cash back home.” you shrugged, noticing that the others weren’t following. Sometimes, it seemed like there was more than just a cultural barrier between you and the others, like they didn’t grasp the concept of a modern society.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What I’m saying is: why don’t you move? Move within range of a college town, periodically steal from a donation center, and go after the gaggles of college kids, even?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We have no interest,” Alcina replied, “This is our ancestral land. We claim our birthright with pride, and don’t wish to run away simply to find something that’s easier for us. The commoners’ thoughts on us and what they correctly perceive us to be means nothing to us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Speaking of which— I must say...you’re taking this information...</span>
  <b>
    <em>shockingly well.</em>
  </b>
  <span>” she mused, taking a slow, languid sip from her wine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, I guess?” You shrug “Honestly, it kinda fits. You just give off that ‘not-quite-human, supernatural being vibe’. Like the prestige of the Volturi in Twilight was mixed with, like, mid-century aristocracy and there’s not a man in sight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Speaking of: when you said you’re a miniature clan, are you talking like Twilight-style, where it’s a family based on a ‘common ancestor’ who bit you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She gave a slight smile as she glanced towards her three daughters on the other side of the table as you. “Oh, no. They’re all mine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You nodded in response. Oh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>wow.</span>
  </em>
  <span> So she was a real mother rather than a group leader sort of ‘mother’, like it was a convent or a Girl Scout troop or something. Meaning those girls who were at least physically in your age range were her kids (although they were surely older than they looked, given the whole vampire thing). Yeah, this was </span>
  <em>
    <span>definitely</span>
  </em>
  <span> a milf/Stacy’s Mom scenario and you were </span>
  <em>
    <span>definitely</span>
  </em>
  <span> crushing on a woman who would never reciprocate, let alone notice because you’re surely younger than her own offspring. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, hopefully, they really were just...oddly nice vampires who let you stay for dinner and you could leave and never have to see that gorgeous goddess of a woman ever again and </span>
  <em>
    <span>proceed to try and convince yourself it was a fever dream and try to find tall hot girls to try and fill the void with back home…</span>
  </em>
  <span> yeah, that sounded about right.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If I may ask: is there a…</span>
  <em>
    <span> Lord</span>
  </em>
  <span> Dimitrescu that will be joining us?” You asked, pretending it was under the guise of wanting to know if anyone else would be introduced, rather than flat out asking a 9-foot-tall-vampire-queen </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘hey girl, you gay, too?’</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>no.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” she chuckled, “I wanted children, so I chose a few of the finest local men and, </span>
  <em>
    <span>erm…</span>
  </em>
  <span>” she bit her lip ever so slightly as she contemplated her wording for a moment. “...are you aware of the behavior of the female praying mantis?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You nod, fully aware of what she was implying.“You had your cake and ate it, too. A sperm donor turned midnight snack.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Exactly. </span>
  </em>
  <span>I gave them one last go before executing them, and if that ended up in a pregnancy, I happily raised them as my own.” she purred with a slight smirk, the girls smiling softly at their mother, obviously affectionate towards her when it came to such intimate conversations. </span>
  <em>
    <span>...but good God that purr was hot...</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>You didn’t have a pregnancy fetish. You were, like, 80% sure of that at the moment (maybe more, but after finding out that </span>
  <em>
    <span>vampires were fucking real</span>
  </em>
  <span> a few minutes ago, you had decided that anything was truly possible, and to </span>
  <em>
    <span>never rule anything out ever again</span>
  </em>
  <span>). But the concept of such an imposing, unyielding being brought down to the simple human task of motherhood was</span>
  <em>
    <span>...oddly comforting? </span>
  </em>
  <span>It humanized her, in a way. Even though she was a blood-sucking giant, she was still caring and tender enough in private to rear three daughters all on her own, and for them to love and care for her in return. It was cute and confirmed that this woman definitely had a soft spot. Although you were trying to not get even </span>
  <em>
    <span>more </span>
  </em>
  <span>attached than you already were, you found yourself desiring to see that soft side of her. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“So yes, no Lord. I don’t find men </span>
  <b>...</b>
  <b>
    <em>appealing, </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>in that sense.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>Fucking hell. </em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <em>She was practically unknowingly </em>
    <b>
      <em>taunting</em>
    </b>
    <em> you at this point.</em>
  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll drink to that.” You laughed, holding up your drink in a mock toast before taking a large swig of the alcohol. You weren’t a wine fan, but the pairing had definitely gone well with your meal. “Women are better at, well… just about anything that’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>actually important. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Women aren’t good at pointless war and shit like that because it’s just a dick-measuring competition between two sides.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No wonder you’re a matriarchal family. Women are strategic— we plan ahead, we can coax our enemies into a false sense of security, we can use networks of social life to get things done for us. We’ve been the mastermind behind the curtains all along while men thought we were feeble and insignificant.” You went on, suddenly sounding that you had gone from your usual vocabulary to that of your old college essays. “Sorry, went on a bit of a feminist tangent there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alcina didn’t complain, let alone negatively acknowledge your tangent in any way. “I hate to cut this wonderful conversation short, my dear, but the staff needs to clean in here soon. Shall we...take this into the foyer? I’d </span>
  <em>
    <span>love</span>
  </em>
  <span> to hear more about your profession, (y/n).” She stated, golden eyes half-lidded in an expression you could have mistaken for sultry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You were practically beaming back at her at the offer. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>“</b>
  <b>
    <em>I’d love to.</em>
  </b>
  <b>”</b>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I can only hope this was worth the wait for all of you! If you're reading this right when it's posted, and if you celebrate it: happy Easter! If you don't celebrate, have a happy 50% off holiday candy tomorrow and a nice Sunday! :)</p><p>Want to hear my Dimitrescu-related thoughts multiple times a day, instead of waiting for me to eventually get my ass in gear to post maybe once a month here on AO3? Follow me on Tumblr @neonnoir-ao3!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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